Tulips In the Snow
by NotMyHappyEnding
Summary: Lars van Helsing once thought that all he really needed to live a full life was money, his art, good poetry, and what was left of his broken family. Settled in the city of Eindhoven in The Netherlands, he never suspected to meet a Canadian boy who went by the name of Matthew Williams. He certainly did not expect him to become his new roommate of all people. (NedCan)
1. Chapter One

**Hello everyone! This is a NedCan fanfiction. It is in an alternate universe were they are not nations, but humans. This is my first Hetalia fanfiction, so I am hoping it will be decent enough! Positive feedback and constructive criticism, even if harsh, are welcome and will most likely means faster updates. I shoot to put up a chapter each week, and they will most likely be way longer than this one since this chapter is basically more of an introduction to the story than an actual chapter. Tell me what you think! I am warning you now, this story will contain things such as adult language, use of recreational drugs, a bit of sex, light violence, all that good stuff. If you aren't fond of such things, I suggest you either stomach it or not read. Hetalia and the characters in this story belong to Hidekaz Himaruya!**

 **Thanks to my friend Ann I decided to write this little story! Her tumblr is: somewhere-in-that-universe. tumblr. com. Go check her out!**

 **Also, if any Dutch or Canadian readers come across this story, I would love for you to personally message me for the sake of slang, translations, foods, things that could make all the difference in giving Lars and Matt more reliable characteristics! If I can get official things such as that, I am more than willing to go back and edit.**

Chapter One

Lars bit down on the mouth piece of his pipe, glowering at the person seated across from himself. The air hung heavy with a silence, nothing more than the ticking of a clock every few moments. He inhaled, breathing out but a second later, a cloud of smoke flowing into the air. He let out a hum of consideration, watching the man at the opposite end of the table shift under his gaze. Lars was fully aware how easy it was to make someone uncomfortable by simply staring, but it was simply his way of observation. How he determined whether or not he liked them. Matthew Williams. He took a few more puffs, finally withdrawing the tobacco pipe away from his lips with a heavy sigh. The entire time he had been smoking, despite the fact he had been careful not to breath in the others general direction, Matthew had looked ready to cough but was managing to hold it down.

"Alright," he finally agreed, the single, gruffly spoken word enough to make Matthew's head snap up in attention. Two weeks ago, Lars had decided to sign up for a website to advertise that he was searching for a roommate. Someone to fill an empty room in his apartment. It was for the sake of saving a few extra bucks. Living in The Netherlands, he had suspected a fellow Dutchman, perhaps even a German or a Belgian from the neighboring countries. Instead, his only response had been a Canadian who spoke Lars's native tongue rather poorly. Most likely the only reason he got along so well was because so many people in the area spoke English. Being that he had been the only one whom applied, however, Lars decided to give it a try. Matthew seemed calm, timid. Surely they could get along decently enough. Lars would make sure to keep contact to a minimum, anyway. Those were his hopes- that Matthew would stay out of his business and Lars in return would do the same.

Matthew sat up straighter in his chair, lips turning up into a smile. "Really? So it's a deal then?" he asked. Lars's eyebrow twitched in a sort of mild agitation. Honestly, it was as if Matthew had not understood that he had said 'yes' to him moving in. "That's great, I-" Lars lifted a hand, showing his palm to silence him.

"Pay your part of the rent on time, stay out of my room, and make sure your dog doesn't eat my rabbit. Then we'll have no problems," he stated factually, taking in more smoke from his pipe. Matthew frowned, but was not bothering to put up an argument, much to Lars's satisfaction. He believed the ground rules were basic enough. There was no need to fight about personal barriers. "I suspect you have someone to help you move in?" he asked.

Matthew ringed his hands together, still finding himself rather unnerved under Lars's unwavering gaze. "Yes, my brother, when do I-"

His sentence was cut off once again by Lars. "Tomorrow," he demanded, standing from his own seat. Matthew looked up at him, a bit shocked. Why so soon? He had suspected another week or at least a few days. He did already have his things packed. Matthew stood as well, offering out a hand, which Lars coldly rejected. "I will see you tomorrow." Like that, Lars stepped around and out of sight into his bedroom, leaving behind a confused Matthew. He was a busy man, and the last thing he wished to do was dawdle around with the other more than he would have to.

 **000**

"Mattie, come on! My back hurts! And I'm hungry!"

"You ate two burgers before we came here! The couch is the last thing, anyway."

"You don't understand. I'm going to _die_!"

Lars groaned, his pipe hanging from the side of his mouth, dipping the bristles of his paintbrush into a small paint. His mouth constantly opened and closed, taking in the smoke, enjoying the flavor, and blowing it out. For the past two hours, it had been nothing but constant bickering from Matthew and a boy who's name he picked up to be Alfred. It was driving Lars near insane. Had it been a weekday, he would have already snapped. However, Lars was more tolerant on the weekends, so long as he had no work. That did not mean his temper at the moment was not running short. He was use to silence, especially on a clear day with no rain. He had thought to use it like any other, spreading paint onto a canvas. He had drawn on it, first. A light pencil sketch barely outlined a young woman's face, wind blowing her hair every which way. The only color so far was half the girl's face, her skin a light shade of brown. Working with oil paints was frustrating enough, and when Lars heard a loud clash outside his door, he finally decided it was time to put his work on pause.

Lars made sure to thoroughly rinse the brush before placing it to the side, setting his feet on his floor. The rabbit curled on his pillow asleep barely shifted. He was dressed in nothing more than boxers and an old t-shirt, but Lars could hardly care about his attire. His hair was spiked, that was what he cared about. He needed a fresh cup of coffee and wanted to know how much longer this noise would last. Lars was quick to suck down the last of his pipe, setting that to the side as well. Grabbing his mug, the liquid no longer steaming, he opened his door and stepped out, nearly bumping straight into one of the others currently occupying the apartment.

The blond with spectacles let out a surprised shriek, dropping the couch he had just picked up once again. Guessing this was Alfred, Lars narrowed his eyes. Matthew let out a light laugh, setting his side of the love seat down and falling into the cushions. "Hey Lars!" he greeted, causing said man to look Matthew's way, closing his door. He grunted in response, stepping around a still panting Alfred and into the kitchen conjoined with the living room.

Lars dumped what little coffee was left in his mug into the sink, rinsing it out with water. He grabbed the pot's handle, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee before putting it back away. He scooped a few spoonfuls too many of sugar into his drink, stirring the contents together. Once he had his fix, Lars walked back into the living room, watching as the two brothers struggled to fit the couch through the door frame of Matthew's new room. It was entertaining, really. Lars took a sip of his coffee, watching as they turned it every which way in order to force it to fit. Curious, Lars filed in once they managed to finally get it in, glancing around the once empty area. He had been using it as an art room before but decided to put it to better use. He glanced around, his nose scrunching in immediate distaste at the disorganization. The boxes weren't even stacked against the wall, the pieces that made a bed when put together were in a heap, and the desk was carelessly pushed into a corner.

"Can I help you Lars?" a voice suddenly spoke up, one he was already identifying as Matthew's.

Now that he had been caught looking in, Lars tried to sink back behind the doorway, out of view with a small, "No," in response. A second later, he peeked back in, earning confused stares from the males inside trying to put the bed frame together. "I'm working. Be a little more quite," he suggested, disappearing again before either could question him.

With that, Lars simply returned to his painting, sitting down on the edge of his bed with a sigh. Green eyes flickered over the unfinished painting, one done so delicately by such a rugged man. He took another sip of his coffee before setting it on his bedside table. He grabbed his pie, continuing to look over his work as he cleaned out his pipe. Lars drank some more coffee. By the time he remembered it again, it would be cold, and Lars would not drink it. Once again picking up his paint brush, he dipped it into a small container of paint, bringing it to the canvas.


	2. Chapter Two

**Hello readers! I know chapter one was rather short, and poorly formatted, but hopefully this chapter will make up for that! The story will be a bit slow paced at first, and Lars a bit mean, but he'll warm up to Matthew eventually. As you can see, I decided to just bold my notes opposed to doing a line break since for some reason the line breaker is not showing up and I am absolutely dreadful when it comes down to technology. Also, I am sorry for the longer than intended wait. The chapter itself still is not as long as I wanted it to be. I had some extreme stresses at home lately and computer difficulties. But, I finally got around to writing this chapter today. Thanks to so much for the wonderful reviews last chapter, they were very much appreciated. Comment, like, and add!**

Chapter Two

It had been a few long months since Matthew moved into the apartment, and Lars had managed to do what he had originally hoped. Interactions they had to have where kept at a minimum span of time. He had avoided the other fairly well, which was easy enough since Lars was usually absent at one of his two jobs or hidden away in his room, doing _something_. The only time he ever really came out was to leave or clean. Matthew had tried at first, but hardly ever bothered to engage Lars into a conversation anymore. Three months, and they were still strangers living under the same roof. Now, Lars was faced with a rather unfortunate situation that was ruining that streak.

Matthew was out running some errands, leaving his small Samoyed behind. Lars had left his door open a crack when he went to use the bathroom. He was not particularly worried about anyone peeking in and being nosy. After all, he was alone for the most part. By the time he had found his way back, his roommate's dog had slipped into the room. His artwork was safe, untouched without so much as a single smudge. As for his paints, it was a different story. The dogs white coat was splattered in yellow and blue, mostly around his muzzle. Lars walked over to the animal, crouching down, laying a hand on its back. His fingers sunk into the pleasantly fur, softly tickling his palm and the skin between his fingers. He grabbed one of the small tubes laying on the ground, leaking blue from the puncture holes along the sides, the dog watching him. It had already been half empty but now any contents that could have been salvaged from it were in the animal's stomach. "Stupid dog," he grumbled irritably, picking up the second tube to trash them. Lars was sure enough that the acrylic paint was safe. Elementary children did use it quite often after all. He had been using it as a substitute for his usual colors, since he was currently out of oil paints, and acrylic was easy to manipulate for a thinner or thicker substance. Of course in this instant he had been going for a thinner consistency.

Lars bent down, lifting the animal with a fair amount of ease into his arms. It wiggled a bit, but did not really fight the hold. He was not even sure what its name was, Kuma-something. Every time he heard Matthew address the dog it was _Kuma_ followed by something else. Honestly, it was as if the owner never bothered to remember his full name. Lars toted Kuma into the bathroom, setting the dog down. Since he did not know the last part, he would just address it by the first part of the dog's name. He whined, looking up at Lars, wagging his tail. "Stop doing that," he said to the animal as he started the water, sticking his hand under the tap to make sure it was not too hot or cold. He never understood why the dog seemed to like him so much, sometimes pawing at his door in the dead of night. Whether he was up or trying to sleep, it annoyed him greatly. It completely disrupted his concentration, and he would have to call Matthew to take care of the little beast. Lars was not too fond of him, being that it was a long-haired breed of dog. Which meant shedding- and that meant work. It meant vacuuming the carpet, the couch, plucking fur off things. And now it had gotten into his precious paints. Lars was already in nothing more than his usual boxers and t-shirt, so he stepped into the shallow bathwater, unhooking Kuma's collar before putting him in as well. The dog kept whining as Lars worked, lathering up the coat, having to scrub around its face a bit roughly to get it out. He was almost done when the front door opened.

With someone in the apartment, Kuma fell into a fit of warning barks, the sound echoing loudly. Matthew called the dog's name, but there was no way Lars would allow it to get out of the tub still soaking wet. Kuma would have tracked water everywhere, and he could not have that. The last thing he wanted to do was mop up puddles. Before long, a familiar head of orange-colored hair peeked in through the doorway. "Lars, what are you doing to my dog?" he asked, watching as Lars wrestled Kuma to obediently sit back down. The now soapy water splashed in the ceramic confines, hitting Lars's legs and dousing Kuma's coat.

"Your dog got into my paint," he explained in a grumble, once again grabbing the dog's faintly dyed muzzle and scrubbing with the tips of his finger. He hated the way the soap was getting under his neatly trimmed nails, and how his feet were in a bunch of dirty dog water, but he would just have to deal with it, anyway, as annoying as it was.

Matthew seemed only seemed confused, stepping into the bathroom with a bag from one of the local stores. Lars recognized it as being from one of the bakeries not too far away from their apartment, no more than a block away, and he guessed that Matthew had bought some more peperkoek. He had seen Matthew chewing on the spice cake several times before, surely having developed a love for the treat.

"You paint?" The entirety of the time they had lived with each other he had not seen Lars pick up a brush. He never spotted any kind of paint on his clothing or skin. The Dutchman always took care not to be messy, and even when he did get some paint on him, he was quick to make sure and clean it away. Sometimes he would end up scrubbing his skin raw in the process. Lars rinsed his hands in the bath water. He dipped the plastic cup floating in the tub into the water, pouring it onto Kuma's muzzle, careful not to get the water in the dog's nose. "Those were expensive you know," he stated, rubbing behind Kuma's ear, blatantly ignoring the question. "And your dog ate them." Green eyes flicked over to Matthew.

The other male bit his lip with a soft "sorry," obviously embarrassed that Kuma had done such a thing. Not that Lars could exactly blame Matthew for what the dog had done. He had not been present when it happened. Although, a part of him did want to say Kuma should have been more thoroughly trained. "I can pay you back," he said. "And you didn't have to wash him. I would have done it when I got back."

"He was a mess and would have gotten paint everywhere. No point in paying me back, either, the tubes were nearly empty, anyway," he excused, running his hands through the fur, soap seeping between his fingers. "Hand me that towel," he ordered, holding his free hand expectantly.

Obediently, Matthew handed him the towel that had been set aside on the bathroom counter. Once there was a towel in his hands, Lars moved to get out of the tub, making sure to wipe his feet free of water, making sure not to drip any onto the floor. "What do you paint?" Matthew asked, curiosity peeking through his question.

Kuma was lifted out of the water, immediately being dried with the towel when his paws touched the tiles. The result a few minutes later being that the fur was darting in every other direction. "Whatever I want to," was Lars's simple response. While he was not exactly working with Matthew to answer inquiries, he was not shutting him out like he usually did, either.

"Can I see?"

Lars's movements halted, now choosing to look up at his roommate. Matthew did not seem like the artistic type, so why would he care? "Why?" he countered, returning back to drying Kuma off. The dog simply panted, not minding the rough treatment it was receiving.

Such a response resulted in a hesitant answer. "Curious," came out slowly, Matthew seeming to drag out each letter of the word. His uneasiness was obvious enough to Lars. Slight body language was enough to tell. Matthew's grip on the bag had tightened a bit, and he was looking down, picking at a stray thread on his red sweater.

A grunt escaped Lars' mouth as he pondered it over. Surely no harm could be done in revealing some of his work personally. He did spend hours upon hours trying to create the beautiful images or people to observe. Art that hardly earned a second glance when hung up on the walls of a buyers home, he knew. Lars was still thinking, withdrawing the towel from the now semi-dry dog. It was reduced to a mere ball of white fuzz, coat still a bit damp, but safely dry. "Alright," he finally answered, standing once more, towel in hand. Kuma immediately shook, no water leaving his body. Lars tossed the towel into the laundry basket, which hit the bottom with a small thump.

Matthew seemed a bit surprised that Lars was actually complying. Before the Dutchman could see much else of the reaction he had already left the room, Kuma trailing behind. He licked Lars's hand, making the man immediately pull his hands to the chest. The last thing he wanted was to be covered in dog saliva. It did not take long for Matthew to follow the other into the room he had yet to lay eyes on. Even if he wanted to when Lars was gone he would not have been able to since the door was always locked. Lars never understood how some people where so curious about such small things. He was never very fond of nosy people that poked their noses into business that was not their own.

"Is that what you always do in your room?" Matthew asked.

Lars simply nodded yes in a non-vocalized response, pushing open the door and stepping in. The room had a funny smell to it, really. Lars had long ago grown use to it. From what he could remember when he first moved in, the smell of weed and tobacco where probably lingering heavily in the air, mixed in with the fumes of heavy paints. It was a simple room. The walls were a light blue, the ceiling a pale white, and the carpet a sandy brown. The only real pieces of furniture were Lars's bed, bedside table, and a dresser. His rabbit hutch was in one of the four corners of the room. Then, of course, pushed against the wall was a desk, which was a work station for most projects. When Lars was not sitting on his bed, painting on his easel, he was there. Different paints were placed carefully along the back, along with brushes and sponges. There was a large sheet of newspaper taped to the desk, catching any paint that threatened to splash on the wood. There was a thick piece of paper setting atop that newspaper, taped along the edges to give him some nice, neat margins. He was nearly finished with his painting of a goldfish. He had manipulated the acrylics, giving them a thinner consistency, making it appear more like water paints. So, it was a splash of orange dripping on a dark blue background. It was simple, but impressive. Even with the way the sheet of paper did not bubble or sink due to the water being absorbed.

Some canvases were stacked to the left side of the desk, filled with color. The ones placed on the right side were still blank, either white or black. A few, paintings given to Lars or ones he were particularly proud of, hung on the plain walls, giving them personality. Matthew was taking his time in his observation, simply standing and looking around, taking in the surrounding. Lars walked over to his rabbit's hutch, a shallow thumping sound resonating throughout the room as the Holland Lop hopped over to the door, eager to be released of the confines. Its nose twitched. Lars wanted to take the small animal, Miffy, out, but the dog in the room made him feel anxious. What if Kuma tried to eat Miffy? Or bite him? Or growled? Or made his poor, beloved rabbit would have a heart attack from the fear of such a larger animal that was not a gentle human?

Matthew exhaled softly behind Lars, which he could not quite tell if that was good or bad for a moment. Lars glanced back at him, but not in complete attention. Matthew was looking at some of his newer paintings done over the course of the past three weeks that had yet to go. They were all pretty simple, in his point of view. Plain. Then again, Lars always felt as if they were lacking, in one form or another. Matthew seemed fascinated enough, gently running his hand along the dried paint of one of his textured works.

Now Lars had turned around, leaning back, so his lower back was resting against the rabbit hutch. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, observing the other male as he continued to look through the collection with what Lars thought was genuine interest. The entire situation was strange and foreign to him. Usually he did not necessarily allow people to look through his collection. Those who did were doing so digitally with an interest of buying most likely. He sold the paintings online after all. It was a good way to make money, and he could easily charge about three hundred bucks for one of his nicer pieces. He sometimes did requests, too. Lars was by no means popular, but he was proud to be known well enough for them to sell fairly fast upon posting them. More so, they were almost always one of a kind unless he decided to do a couple copies.

"Lars," came out in a hushed whisper, as if Matthew was afraid to speak up.

The addressed male blinked indifferently, barely humming back in response.

Matthew continued, moving to his knees on the carpeted floor, sitting on his own legs. He was on the left side of the desk now. "These are all just so well done, I'm impressed," he admitted, picking up one of the smaller paintings, one with two birds on it. A duck swimming in a pond and a red cardinal swooping past it.

He did not know why it would matter that Matthew said he was impressed by his work. Lars had been into art his entire life. He had received a plethora of compliments. It was an extreme form of expression for him. The only real outlet he had that had ever offered relief from the stresses of life. Well, there was marijuana, too, but that did not come until he was much older and could actually purchase the drug. Although, even then he had been a bit young to smoke such a thing, even if it was considered soft. Lars had just been tall and muscular enough that the dealers did not question his age all and all. "Thanks," was all he bothered to say, watching as his interested roommate continued.

Matthew gently sat the painting of the two birds to the side, moving on to another one. "How long have you been painting?" he asked, curiosity shining through.

Lars seemed a bit hesitant. He decided to speak, though. "My whole life," he finally answered. Matthew merely nodded in acknowledgment.

Like that, the conversation had diminished into silence between the two. There was the slight scratching sound of the paintings as they were shifted, but that was all. Kuma pranced up beside Lars, resulting in the Dutchman looking down at the small dog warily. It sat down, tail dragging back and forth across the floor, happily panting. Its muzzle was still stained from the paints but the color would surely wear off over the course of the next few days. So long as it did not eat anymore. At least the dog seemed healthy. Even if it had broken into his room, he did not wish sickness upon it.

"Papa use to paint. He was really good at it, too. Not as good as you, and he didn't paint, he sketched," he said, smiling fondly. "I always loved watching him work," he drifted off, caught in his own thoughts.

Lars wondered why on Earth Matthew would want to talk to him about such a subject. Neither were aware of the others past. Lars usually was not very keen on telling people about himself, anyway. Conversation on current events, hobbies, things of that nature where welcome. Usually with friends. When it came to the subject of stories, Lars fell short. He did not bother to try and pick up with the other people when this happened, and it often went unnoticed.

Matthew looked up and cleared his throat. "Sorry, I'm not bothering you, am I?" he asked, setting the painting of a girl he had been holding down. He stacked the paintings like they had before, standing and wiping his jeans, despite the fact that there was no dirt.

"What did he draw?" Lars suddenly spoke up, once again choosing to ignore Matthew's question.

Matthew seemed taken aback by the sudden interest. "I'm sorry?" he said slowly, grabbing his elbow with his own hand, fingers sinking into the fabric covering his skin.

Resisting the urge to tell Matthew to ignore it and usher him out of his room- Kuma in hand- Lars repeated himself. "What did your father like to draw?"

"Oh." Matthew blinked owlishly. "Well, he drew a lot of pretty women. Guys, too. Mostly just people in general. Naked portraits were his specialty, but he drew a lot of other stuff, too," he said softly. "Papa's a bit of a pervert," he said with a soft laugh, walking over by Lars. Kuma did not even acknowledge the others approach.

Lars did not mind the other coming to stand beside him. "I didn't know you liked art," he said softly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. It was centered in the same wall as the rabbit hutch and his desk.

"You never asked."

"Neither did you."

Silence filled the room once more. Lars did not feel uncomfortable in the situation as he felt he should have. He still was not so sure on this guy; however, bad guys don't love art. How could anyone negative enjoy something so great? Lars mulled this over, standing and walking to the opposite side of the bed. Kuma stayed where he was, curiously sniffing at the rabbit cage. He began shifting through his bedside table, finally producing a pipe and small tin. He popped the lid of the container, exposing its contents. "Okay then, why do you like art?" he finally asked, taking pinchfuls of the dry substance from a small tin, stuffing them into the bowl.

"I like watching it be made than the actual pictures," Matthew responded.

Lars could feel his gaze settled on him as he compressed the tobacco. Lars settled the end of the pipe between his teeth, now searching for a lighter. "So you find more interest in the creator than his creations," he concluded, now digging around in his jacket that had been hung up. He pulled a small, orange lighter from the pocket, his thumb striking down on the sparkwheel until a small flame was made. The warmth of the small flicker burned the top of the tobacco as Lars ran it over it, burning the top layer before pressing it down evenly. He released his pressure on the lighter, slipping the small device into his pocket. It was almost out of gas, he would have to purchase another soon. He took a puff of smoke, allowing the smoke to linger in his mouth before blowing it out.

Matthew shifted on his seat that was the bed, watching Lars carefully. "What are you talking about?" he asked, obviously confused by Lars's response.

"The way artists move while they work is unlike anything else," he tried to elaborate, smoke curling over his lip. "The flow of the brush, how they mix paints, how they see the world," he continued, walking over to his window to look out at the rainy world outside. "It's all different," he finally concluded, green eyes observant. "The finished product it a look through their eyes, but how they make it come to be, that's a completely exposing," he added on. Lars himself was not very certain as to why he was telling Matthew with. Perhaps it was simply because he was taking his time to actually listen.

There was an uninterrupted silence in the room, and Lars could not tell if Matthew was staring at him or even still there. He assumed the other had taken his leave. His blabbering often was enough to make people shy away. Matthew's nose scrunched up a bit. "You're kind of weird," he commented.

Well, he had not expected that. Lars turned around, eyes landing on Matthew. He was sitting on the bed, Kuma in his lap. "Hm?"

"You're kind of weird." He repeated. "But, I see your point," he said, scratching his dogs neck. "You want to eat some of that cake with me?" he suddenly offered.

Lars quirked an eyebrow, causing the horizontal scar along the right side of his forehead to shift slightly. He did enjoy sweets, and it had been awhile since he had a slice of peperkoek. Besides, so long as they were talking.. He had been feeling a bit lonely lately. "Alright," he agreed, running a hand through his hair, perking the strands back up.

Despite the slight awkwardness still lingering in the air, Matthew seemed pleased enough that Lars had said yes.

 **000**

"You know, this stuff kind of reminds me of gingerbread," Matthew hummed, breaking off another piece from his slice of peperkoek.

Lars let out a small grunt. "Gingerbread?" he asked, taking a bite of his own slice, a thick layer of butter slathered on.

The Canadian nodded in confirmation. "Back when I still lived in Canada, Papa used to bake it during the holidays. Or just on especially cold days," he said, smiling to himself as he popped the piece into his mouth, taking care to chew well. He swallowed, and then continued. "So it kind of reminds me of home."

Sometimes, Lars did not understand why people moved away from their homes when they knew they would miss it. So far, from what he had gathered, there were a lot of things Matthew seemed to miss. The cold weather, snow, clear days, old friends, it almost made Lars feel guilty for not giving Matthew a chance before. He took a sip of his coffee, washing down the remnants of peperkoek in his mouth. "Why'd you come to Holland, anyway?" he asked.

"Well," he started off a bit awkwardly, taking another piece. "Papa moved here after he got a really good job offer. I was fifteen, so it wasn't like I could say no," he explained. "I do miss home sometimes, but it's nice here. I just wish it didn't rain so much," he admitted with a small laugh.

Without thinking, Lars glanced at one of the windows behind Matthew. Sure enough, it was in fact raining. After living in the same city for the entirety of his life, Lars had grown to think of rain as just another factor in life. Not to say it sometimes got annoying, especially when it was dry for a while. "You'll get use to it," Lars encouraged, taking the last bite of his slice.

A frown found its way onto Matthew's face as he looked down at his own peperkoek, only a fraction of it gone. "Yeah, but I do want to go back one day soon," he said, lips turning up again. "After all, Eindenhoven does have some interesting points," he chimed, resting his elbow on the table, his cheek on his fist.

Lars's eyebrow gave a small twitch of agitation, although, he was a bit amused by Matthew's inability to wrap his tongue around the Dutch language. " _Eindhoven_ ," he corrected.

The response returned was a roll of the eyes and amused laugh. " _Eindhoven_ , then," he said, putting emphasis on the city they both lived in.

 **NOTE: Peperkoek is a Dutch spice cake similar to gingerbread. I baked some and let me tell you, it's amazing! Pretty simple to make, just a lot of waiting.**


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